1963
by mrscribble
Summary: Richard meets Emily for the first time, and the second, and the third... A story of friendship, love, a blue dress and doing what feels right. Richard/Emily, pre-series. complete.
1. green dress

_Thursday, October 17, 1963_

Dusk had long since swept over the Yale campus, chilly October fingers pressing up against the windows and leaving yellowed leaves stuck on the sills. Many windows, dark and empty, were indicators of inhabitants who had decided to pursue more exciting happenings on campus; others were indicators of inhabitants exhausted from a day of classes filled with America's brightest minds and tests marked by unfailingly judgmental professors. One window, however, still glowed gently in the night, and the silhouettes of two students moved languidly within.

Of course, any poetic merit to the image was thoroughly shattered by Robert Delaney's usual dramatic ramblings.

"Dick, I really think I'm in love. She's absolutely gorgeous, has legs up to _here_ and hair down to _here_ and honestly, when you see her – it's as if Ursula Andress had a twin sister. _Smokin'_!"

"If you keep calling me Dick I'll have to start calling you Bobby," Richard Gilmore mumbled, supremely uninterested in his friend's love life. He swirled his glass clockwise, the amber liquid smooth against the crystal like the warm lamp light seeping across the otherwise dim room.

Tall and broad, well-groomed, and neatly dressed, Richard sat comfortably on the dorm's settee. Being the property of a Gilmore and a Delaney, though, the couch was far from the lousy yellowed thing that many college students elected to install in their dormitories, if anything at all; the luxe burgundy leather chesterfield and matching chairs on proud display in the middle of the room were a perfect complement to the heavily stocked bookcases lining one wall and the rather rude so-called modern sculpture stretching scandalously in one corner that Robert had brought back to the dorm one drunken Saturday. Amber beads that jingled rather annoyingly with close steps on the plush carpet hung from the lampshades clustered at either end of the chesterfield. It really was a bit of a wonder what you could do to a bleak, emotionless residence room if you had a little bit – or, rather, a lot – of money to burn.

Of course, the books squeezing up against one another in the bookcases were Richard's most prized possessions; at six, his mother had already instilled in him a sense of avid curiosity, and at eight he was devouring the classics. His parents had only been too happy to fund his lifelong obsession, and as he sat on the chesterfield letting his roommate's lovesick rantings go in one ear and out the other, Richard briefly wondered what to read before bed. Which reminded him that he needed to call his fiancée before _she_ went to bed…

Robert laughed, leaning forward slightly. "Do you know what the best part is?" he said in a low voice, eyebrows raised high and smirk set in place. "I have two words for you. On. Top."

Choking on his scotch, Richard reached for the handkerchief in his sportcoat pocket and coughed loudly as the liquor burned a trail down the back of his throat, Robert chuckling all the while. He tucked the soft fabric back into his breast pocket and shot his friend a glare, draining the rest of his glass. "That was far, far more than I needed to know about your relationship with Hope. And now, if you're finally done, I should call Pennilyn."

Robert rolled his eyes, generously refilling his own glass. "You, my friend, are missing out," he said knowledgeably as he stood, crossing the room to the door of his bedroom. "I mean, Pennilyn's nice and all, but come on. Live a little. Have some fun before you get tied down. Are you coming to John's party on Saturday? I'm bringing Hope, all the boys are dying to meet her. You'd better not have an economics exam again. _Please_ tell me Botsford isn't giving another exam, I think I might cry if you missed out again."

"As long as John refrains from throwing up on my shoes again, yes, I'll be there," Richard replied. The last party had cost him a fortune in cleaning, and it had been a failed venture – he couldn't get the stink out and ended up throwing his shoes away. John was a ridiculous lightweight and had the terrible habit of drinking far, far too much. "And who told you Penny and I were getting married?"

Robert winked, one hand jauntily tapping the side of his nose. "Dicky boy, you can't hide anything from me. I _saw_ that ring you bought. What a gem! My friend, if you're giving her a diamond like that I'd better hope you were serious."

Richard grinned bashfully as Robert laughed again. "Well, don't go spreading it all around, Lynnie's father is planning on making a formal announcement. Big party and all that," Richard said. "And wait, how did you – were you looking through my things?"

Robert just winked again, laughing all the while. Richard rolled his eyes. His friend was really too much sometimes, although that really was just the way he played the game of life: play hard, roll fast, and don't let anything depress you. Richard preferred a much more conventional model himself.

Instead of saying anything, he shook his head disapprovingly and raised one eyebrow at his friend who really was drinking too much for a Thursday night. Robert got the hint and slipped into his bedroom, sitting down into the easy leather desk chair and closing the door behind him with one foot. As Richard carefully dialed Pennilyn's number in the sitting room, Robert leaned back, glass in hand, to spend the rest of his evening dreaming about Hope Archer and her impossibly long bare legs.

...

_Friday, October 18_

When the phone rang at precisely eight o'clock, Richard picked up the elegant black receiver and held it to his ear, still distracted by the newspaper editorial set in front of him detailing Vietnam terrors. He forgot to say hello.

"Er, is this Robert?" Pennilyn asked with confusion, her voice hoarse over the line. Richard jumped a little and then realized who is on the other end.

"Hello Pennilyn, it's me, Richard," he said, folding up his newspaper again and leaning back on his desk chair. He frowned. "You don't sound well. Have you come down with something?"

There was silence and he heard the faint sound of a nose being blown. "I think I caught something from Deborah. She was walking around our room yesterday coughing and sneezing and moaning about being sick and missing Ernest and now she has me sick too." She was interrupted by a hacking cough, and Richard winced half in sympathy and half in slight disgust. But Penny returned, stating calmly if a little thickly, "I was so looking forward to going to that gathering of John's but I hardly think I'm in any state to."

"Would you like me to come visit you?" Richard asked helpfully. "It's still early, maybe I could find soup or something else comforting and be in New York by tonight..."

Penny gave her soft pleasant laugh which sent her into another fit of coughs. When she recovered, she said kindly, "Although that would be lovely, I think that's quite a bit of a hassle. No, I'm perfectly fine."

"Really, I could come by and spend the weekend with you," he offered. "I should get used to nursing you in sickness if this marriage thing is going to happen, after all." She laughed again.

"No, you go ahead to John's party," Penny said. "I heard all about how excited the boys were about that. You go and have fun without me before you're stuck with me forever."

Later that night when he hung up the phone after just under an hour of conversation, Richard undressed for bed and slipped under the covers. His hands folded over the top of his quilt, and he thought about Pennilyn Lott. She was beautiful, kind, sweet and calm. His parents adored her easy charm, understated confidence and cheerful disposition, as well as her white-collar lineage. She was clever, studying psychology at Vassar College, and they had never had any significant disputes in two years of quiet romance ever since he met her through a friend. Their relationship was, in a word, uncomplicated. _She really is the ideal woman_, Richard told himself. _An ideal wife_. He hesitantly tested the word _wife_ a few times in his head, but it seemed wrong, so he settled on _woman_. He drifted off to sleep, thinking not of Pennilyn's soft blonde curls and wide blue eyes but of pocket squares and tiered cakes.

...

_Saturday, October 19_

"Too bad Pennilyn couldn't make it," John said all too cheerfully over the buzz of the budding party in a Yale dormitory similarly decorated to Richard's. The only difference was that, rather than a rude looking sculpture hiding in the corner, John had decorated with several very rude framed posters that were currently the subject of great titillation amongst a group of giggling girls, long past tipsy and well on their way to completely drunk. John had, about two hours previously, swung open a cupboard door to reveal shelves lined with bottles of cheap beer. Several men Richard knew were already eyeing the friends with interest, apparently eager to take advantage of any benefits alcohol might provide them.

John Dorsey was tall, lanky and a genuinely good man with an infinitely positive disposition, except for when he got too drunk and threw up on Richard. He also had deep pockets and liked to hold large and loud parties full of bad beer and, for a select few special guests, extremely strong and pricey liquor. "She's alright though? Just a cold?"

Richard nodded, accepting a glass of something dark and definitely stronger than he intended to drink tonight. "I told her I'd call her later to inform her whether she needs to buy me a new pair of shoes," he said with a wry smile, and John laughed uproariously. It really wasn't all that funny, but Richard suspected the host of the party had been cleaning out the beer almost single-handedly.

People were streaming in through the door and John didn't seem to mind the numerous uninvited guests, instead weaving through them all to offer up bottles of beer left and right and a glass to certain esteemed guests. Richard was just about ready to leave the crowded room and get some fresh air away from the heavy stench of cigarette smoke and spilled alcohol when he spotted the top of Robert's head at the door. Unsurprisingly, Richard's roommate spotted him back and appeared at his side in a matter of seconds, already nursing a half-empty bottle.

"Richard, allow me to introduce to you Hope Archer," he announced grandly. At his side was a tall, leggy blonde in a very fashionable silky blue dress that showed unprecedented amounts of anatomy. Richard smiled politely as he shook her hand, a class ring settled firmly on her finger. Her good looks didn't surprise Richard in the least – Robert was reputed in the world of women to be quite the catch, according to Penny – but the class ring did. Richard wouldn't have pegged Robert to be interested in an older woman…

"Call me Hope," she introduced herself throatily. Her voice was warm, a comfortable voice, and Richard saw immediately why Robert held her in such adoration. There was something sensual underneath that pleasant timbre, and a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. "I've heard lots about you. Richard Gilmore, yes? Now isn't that a familiar family name."

Richard gave a bit of a chuckle, unamused. "I see you graduated from Smith," he said politely. "Very good school, from what I hear."

Hope laughed, a twinkling laugh that reminded him somehow of Penny. "Oh yes, I loved it. I graduated in June. My younger sister Emily is studying History there at the moment." She gestured vaguely beside her.

That brought Richard's attention to the petite, curvy brunette standing behind Hope in a smart green sheath, dark auburn waves perfectly coiffed and looking positively bored. Richard saw no resemblance whatsoever other than the intense dark eyes so similar to her sister's, and wondered for a moment why Robert picked Hope. He then realized that he was staring, and so proffered his hand, abashed. "Lovely to meet you," Richard said quickly. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Robert smirking.

Emily took his hand, a quick and firm shake, and barely smiled, merely nodding in response. Richard wondered whether he had done something wrong and looked towards Robert, who raised his shoulders slightly. Nothing erased the joyous grin on his face. "Why don't we go meet John, Hope," Robert said cheerfully, leading her away. Without hesitations, Richard realized that Robert was eager to introduce Hope to everyone he knew.

Richard watched them weave back through the crowd before realizing that Emily still stood next to him, watching them go with distaste. "Oh, for Heaven's sake," she said coldly. "It's bad enough I had to drive the girl all the way down here. 'Oh, Emily, my dear sweet sister, I want you to meet Robert, he's such a _darling_ and you'll _love_ him even though you have to drive two hours in the rain and fog to a place you don't recognize where I'll promptly ignore you in the midst of a terrible drunken mess of people you don't know.' And of course I say why _yes_ dear sister because I'm a complete and utter _masochist_."

He stared at her for a few seconds as she glared into the crowd, not sure what to do, until he decided to pour the contents of the first bottle he could reach into a glass and asked meekly, "Drink?"

"God, yes," Emily muttered darkly, taking the glass of vodka from Richard's outstretched fingers and downing its ample contents in one drink. She turned and started at the sight of him. "Oh. Hello. I'm sorry. That was rather –"

Her hands fluttered about for a second until she clasped them together, composing herself. "Richard, is it?" Emily asked instead. "This is a… lovely place."

A couple, giggling with utter inebriation, pushed past them and into the bathroom, locking the door behind them with a loud click. There was a thump and then a pleasured moan.

"Thankfully it isn't mine," Richard replied wryly. He paused. "I was about to get some fresh air, I don't suppose you would like to-"

"Hallelujah," Emily interrupted impatiently, and after a hesitation remembered her manners. "Thank you."

Minutes later Robert surveyed the room, looking for his roommate and friend. "Oy, have you seen Richard around?" he asked a passing pantsless and very drunk John Dorsey.

John laughed, a dizzy and simpering girl on each arm and beers clutched in both hands. "Say, Blondie, seen my buddy ol' pal Dick?" he asked in the vague direction of his right arm. She giggled hysterically and he gave a clumsy wink. They disappeared into his bedroom, his last audible words "he's sure gon' be excited t' meet you ladies…"

"Maybe he's just gone off and gotten some fun of his own," Hope suggested into his ear. "He looked a little bored. Could've done with some excitement to spruce him up a bit."

Grinning, Robert looked up at her. "You're right. You know, this Robert is feeling dull and boring himself…"

"Does Robert want a little excitement?" Hope murmured. He laughed and pulled her closer.

...

"Well isn't this nice," Emily deadpanned as they sat on a bench outside the building, huddled under an umbrella. The rain, coming down in heavy sheets, ceaselessly pounded the ground so hard Richard was surprised erosion hadn't set in yet.

"It's usually nicer out," Richard said unhelpfully. Emily arched an eyebrow and said nothing. They sat in silence, the only sound coming from the rain that battered Emily's umbrella. Richard racked his brains to make conversation, and finally asked, "So you're a History major? What sort of history?"

"Oh, the usual," came her reply. "Western European history, largely. I specialize in the seventeenth century, although I'm rather enjoying a seminar I'm taking on World War I."

"I read a very interesting article on World War I the other night," Richard mused. "He – the author – seemed to believe that Germany had no provocative intentions whatsoever in the events leading to the war. Shafted all the blame to Britain. It was a terrible editorial, actually. No historical support whatsoever."

Emily made a small disbelieving sound, turning to look at him. "No support whatsoever?" she asked, indignation written all over her face.

"Well, other than the obvious British influence over the race to armament, not really," Richard retorted, slightly flustered. Generally he aimed not to upset those he entered conversations with. "I would think that the state of all of Europe at the turn of the century contributed to the rise of the war."

"True, but a ridiculously narrow viewpoint. The root of all of the problems was clearly and historically British."

"Well, isn't that a bit extreme?"

"Hardly…"

...

Conversation had come easily after that. After the conclusion of their heated, exhaustive debate – Richard had begrudgingly accepted Emily's argument – and a tangential discussion on integration down South, they swapped life stories and anecdotes, though for some reason Richard couldn't quite place he conveniently steered around the topic of Pennilyn. Richard learned that Emily had grown up wealthy not far from Yale, in a world of manners and grace. She was a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution and had been a dancer, graduating high school with high marks and entering Smith with the world at her fingertips. "Not as if that means anything," she had commented. "There's hardly a place in the world for a clever woman other than in the house of a rather dull husband. Perhaps something secretarial?" With some surprise, he noticed that she didn't seem too upset by this, and said so. She shrugged. "One day I'll find a man." He wasn't quite sure what she meant by that.

What he did realize, though, that holding a conversation with Emily was easy and surprisingly natural. Her acerbic nature and wit were refreshingly appealing, and somewhere inside he was amused at how seriously she took things she believed in. She was passionate and opinionated and her eyes flashed prettily when he said something against her beliefs, leaping to defend herself, almost accusatory. He admired her cleverness, and the way her animated hands clenched in the air as if it were putty. Richard found himself hanging on to every word she said. Similarly, she smiled at his words and laughed at his jokes, and his stomach felt full of warm, bubbly champagne at every peal of wholehearted laughter that she gave, so much that he found himself making more jokes than he ever did. Emily was so different from Penny's quiet, uninteresting friends, and yet at the same time she was so similar in her ramrod-straight posture, her demure hands folded neatly in her lap. He wasn't sure that he'd ever met anyone like her before.

Time had, through the course of their lengthy conversation, silently slipped through their fingers, and when Richard glanced for the first time at his watch he was taken by surprise. "It's… very late," he said, glancing up at her. The rain had long since eased up but it was all dark save for the light that glowed yellow from within the building. Emily looked at the delicate watch on her own wrist, and raised her eyebrows. "Won't you look at that," she muttered. "I wonder where my sister will have gone off to by now."

"Knowing Robert, they'll be at our dormitory," Richard told her. "I could take you?"

Uncharacteristically shyly, Emily offered a small smile. "That would be lovely, thank you," she said softly. He smiled at her and reached around her to rather chivalrously pick up her umbrella. His wrist brushed accidentally against her hand and gently, Emily circled the base of his palm with two slender fingers, holding him still as she leaned upwards toward him to kiss him tentatively on the lips.

Her lips were warm and soft but before he could do anything he would regret, Richard pushed her away and blurted, "Pennilyn."

Emily blinked at him. "Pennilyn?"

"Pennilyn Lott. My fiancée." Richard said regretfully. "I'm engaged, Emily. I'm so sorry. I should have mentioned."

The expression on her face shifted, instantly guarded. "Well," she muttered. "Yes. You could have mentioned that during our conversation."

She avoided his eyes now, and cleared her throat. "Well don't we all feel a little more stupid right now," Emily said, her tone light. "Why don't we just go and find my lovesick sister and your roommate. Please."

Wordlessly, Richard stood and offered her his hand. She barely tightened her grip on his fingers as she stood up herself, offering him a quick and polite smile. For the rest of the night as they walked back to Richard's dorm and Emily picked up her older sister, she was exactly that: succinct with her words and forcibly polite and, Richard noticed, his gut inexplicably wrenched itself into a tight spiral and refused to unwind, even after the Archer sisters left and Robert lay dreamily naked on the coffee table extolling the virtues of Hope's breasts.

That night, he slept dreamlessly.


	2. purple dress

_Friday, October 25_

"Ah, the man of the hour and his lovely fiancée!" Mr. Lott boomed, standing with his arms spread open wide. Mrs. Lott sat quietly beside his seat on the cream sofa, a smile on her lips. Her blue eyes matched perfectly the blue and white oriental-patterned wallpaper adorning the walls, and her off-white dress was the same colour as the perfectly coordinated sofa set. Richard wondered whether Mr. Lott considered her a piece of the furniture as well.

Pennilyn laughed. "Oh, Daddy. You'd think you'd still remember your daughter's name," she said, finally free of sickness and glowing in her pretty pale way. Richard gave her a tight smile and helped her take off her heavy coat, handing it to the maid. After the end of class, Richard had driven a long and tiresomely lonely journey to New York to pick Lynnie up for dinner with his future parents-in-law. Though her parents were nice enough, however, Richard felt like doing anything else at the moment. In fact, the whole week had been full of days where all he wanted to do was sleep. He chalked it up to a week of taxing classes.

Mr. Lott, a tall and heavyset man with a magnificent mustache, didn't look related to his daughter in the least; Lynnie took greatly after her thin, white mother. Mr. Lott's dominance of the household was obvious, and highly expressed; as they sat for pre-dinner drinks his loud voice was beginning to grate on Richard's nerves.

"So, tell me Richard," Mr. Lott said, leaning comfortably back in his seat. "Evelyn and I were thinking of setting the date for the engagement party – November first alright with you?"

Richard choked a little on his drink. "Sunday the first," he said incredulously. "That's… early. Barely more than a week from now."

"Well, we thought the date might be a bit of an issue, but when it comes to these things earlier really is better," Mr. Lott said calmly. He leaned forward. "It's imperative you announce these things. When Evelyn and I were married, we waited three days after I proposed before having the engagement party. Marriage is serious business, and the earlier the announcement the sooner you can enjoy your marriage."

Ignoring the fact he really couldn't see any obvious benefits to having the engagement announced, Richard reluctantly nodded. "I suppose I could just… get the word out," Richard muttered.

"Good boy," Mr. Lott said, a content smile written over his face and sounding rather more as if he were addressing a dog than his future son-in-law.

"Oh, Lynnie, darling, we must buy you a dress," Mrs. Lott suddenly piped up after her good half hour of silence. "I was thinking a lovely green – you do so look good in green. Oh, or white! I saw a lovely white dress in a Macy's catalogue the other day. Cheap and probably of terrible quality but the cut was lovely and we could probably get something of much finer fabric sent express from Paris…"

Lynnie indulged her mother as Richard leaned back numbly on the sofa, Mr. Lott chattering on about people and places and invitations. He really shouldn't have been surprised that it was all happening so soon, but very suddenly Richard felt utterly overwhelmed.

Sitting for a moment, his head pounding with what seemed to be the onset of a headache, Richard stood to the surprise of the Lotts and politely excused himself, navigating, with the help of a maid, to fresh air. As he stood on the dark terrace lined with heavily perfumed flowers and matted with ivy, Richard took several deep breaths.

He did not have cold feet. He could not have cold feet. This whole marriage thing had been his idea. He was _happy_ about this marriage thing.

But now there was a no doubt extravagant and excessive engagement party in the works, complete with dresses from Paris and gilt invitations and hundreds of guests and soon there would be a wedding with a frothy white cake and a huge cathedral and a honeymoon and God, maybe one day babies, and Richard felt like violently throwing up.

Before he did, cool hands encircled his waist and gently turned him so he faced his dimly lit fiancée's smiling face. "Hi," she said softly. "Are you alright?"

He said nothing, only scrutinized her features, blue eyes and soft nose and barely flushed face. Her white-gold hair was slightly out of place and he silently shifted the offending strand back to its place, the right place, and she was Pennilyn, safe and sweet and everything he ever set out to expect of her. He leaned down and kissed her desperately, hoping for some hint of that spark that would reassure him of this whole mess, but she pushed him away, still smiling. "Let's have none of that where my parents might see us," she said.

He allowed a small smile. The unease in his belly returned and she quietly laughed at the expression on his face. "Daddy's in a bit of a hurry to get this whole party off the ground. It surprised me too. But the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we'll get a break from it all."

Richard nodded silently, attempting to convince himself of it as well. She noticed his discomfort and gently stroked his cheek with those cool fingers, murmuring, "we'll get through this dinner and get you some good sleep and I'm sure everything will make much more sense once you get some rest in you. Now, let's get back to my parents before the maids make up stories about what we're doing out here…"

Richard allowed Pennilyn to lead him back inside, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her that there was more than the party bothering him. All of a sudden, everything down to the tips of her pale fingers felt painfully wrong.

...

_Monday, October 28_

"Yes, Stephen," Richard repeated slowly. "Yes, a party. No – well, yes, but you aren't supposed to know that already – no… no… then next time don't believe Robert… of course not! … Very well, thank you. Have a good evening."

Richard hung up the phone and collapsed back on to the chesterfield, viciously rubbing at his temples. Lynnie had been wrong. The past three days hadn't lessened any of his stress, only building on to an unsteady foundation a whirlwind of names and phone calls. Thank God the menu was the women's job.

It was really his fault, though; Mrs. Lott would have happily managed the guestlist had Richard not realized that his mother-in-law-to-be's ideal party would be full of batty old women cooing over his suit and tie, something that he was considerably much too grouchy for. Of course, once he came to that immediate realization, he offered to take the task off her hands. Better to present his engagement to people he cared about than women his grandmother's age - and so the whirlwind of phone calls and check marks had begun that weekend. Richard had since called the entire list of friends that Lynnie had made, her various aunts and uncles and cousins, his parents (who were overwhelmed with delight) and family and, just beginning now, his friends. It was enough to drive him crazy. Moreover, every single guest had commented on it being an engagement party. Richard didn't understand why the whole thing was necessary if everyone already knew what the point was.

He sighed to himself and reached for his list again just as Robert unlocked the door, quietly edging his way into the room and looking very much like a lost puppy. Richard looked up, irritable. "What's wrong with you?" he asked impatiently.

Robert scuffed the floor with a toe. He fiddled with the button on his jacket and hesitantly opened his mouth. More significantly, he closed it again.

Richard felt like stabbing him violently in the head. It hadn't been a good day, and his roommate's strange mood wasn't exactly making it easier to deal with. "Well?" he prompted again.

"You've been making phone calls," Robert said uncertainly. "To people."

"Yes, and?"

"I – well – I was just wondering – I mean - I _am_ invited to the engagement party, aren't I?" Robert finally blurted, looking mortified. "I understand if - if you'd rather I weren't there, but -"

In an instant, Richard's annoyances fell away and he laughed, loud and painful, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. This was far too much. He was going to get married to Lynnie, and there would be a massively over-the-top party, and his roommate and best friend of three years thought he wouldn't be invited and all of a sudden all of this had become very, very funny.

Robert watched him, bemused. "What'd I say?" he muttered. He scratched his nose as he watched his friend fall to pieces in front of him. "Hey!"

Richard attempted to compose himself, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and sighing. It felt, he told himself, good to laugh after a stressful few days. Finally, the chuckles subsided, and he shook his head in amusement. "Robert, why _wouldn't_ you be invited?" he asked with a grin. "Did you really think I wouldn't invite you just because I didn't call you? We live together, you idiot."

A smile worked its way over Robert's face, one that soon erupted into a grin. "Oh, good," he babbled, "I was just worried, thought maybe, you know, because of Saturday and the, uh, you know, nudity…"

Richard rolled his eyes. Over the years of his friend's predisposition towards wildness, he'd gotten used to everything Robert could possibly throw at him. Figuratively, that is.

"Anyway, great!" Robert said cheerfully. "Perfect. And, you know, is there a room for maybe a plus one?"

"You know I'd let you bring whoever you want," Richard replied, leaning back into the comfort of the chesterfield. "Just make sure Hope's more… fully clothed this time. I think Mrs. Lott might have an aneurysm if she saw her in that blue dress she wore to the party."

Eyes wide, Robert sunk down next to Richard. "Wasn't it a work of art?" he asked wistfully, scrunching up his eyes as if blotting out the world would once again reveal the wondrous image of her breasts in the blue dress. Richard rolled his eyes.

"I'm telling you, Dick, I really think I'm on to something with Hope," Robert finally said once he was done mentally disrobing his girlfriend. "She's funny and gorgeous and I think she might actually be perfect. You should have informed me about this whole love thing sooner. I would've dropped the easy drunken college girls and gone straight to the real deal. Maybe then I'd be having an engagement party too."

"Why does everyone know that already?" Richard mumbled.

Ignoring him, Robert sighed a blissful sigh. "I always wondered how you could stick around with Pennilyn for so long without getting bored, but I think I get it now," he said dreamily. "As soon as I see Hope, it's like I've run a marathon and my heart wants to explode."

Richard was beginning to feel supremely uncomfortable. "Don't write poetry," he commented weakly, "You'd be terrible." Disregarding the fact that Robert sounded like a lovesick child, his dramatic ramblings were beginning to annoy Richard for some inexplicable reason.

Robert sighed again. "Don't you feel the same way?" he asked, eyelids drooping. "As if the world depended on making her happy. My God, Richard, it's an amazing feeling."

"Are you drunk?" Richard asked suspiciously.

"Maybe a little. Had some beer. Bit of vodka. Fancy scotch. Cannabis? Yeah. Tried this new cannabis thing. Mmmm..."

"That explains things, you're never usually this maudlin," Richard said, irritated once again. "I can't believe how far gone you are, and it's not even six yet. I'm bringing you to your room."

By the time Richard managed to hoist Robert on to his bed, he was fast asleep, and Richard left him there curled up with shoes still on. Though he managed to shake his friend's arms off from around his neck, he couldn't quite manage to shake off the guilty gut-sick feeling that was beginning to plague him, again. And, most of all, he couldn't shake off his friend's intoxicated words.

_It means nothing_, Richard told himself as he returned to the phone. _My relationship with Pennilyn is completely different than… whatever it is Robert has with Hope_. But, as he began to dial yet another number, his mind settled uncomfortably on the fact that he'd never really felt as hopelessly enamoured by his fiancée as Robert did with Hope.

...

_Sunday, November 1_

"Mother was thinking St. Patrick's, in the city, but it really isn't something we've thought about yet," Pennilyn was chirping to her cousin's wife's aunt. "We're planning to enjoy the engagement while we can and take the planning as it comes, you know."

Richard sighed inwardly as the old bat went on about cathedrals and churches and stellar florists. The engagement party had turned out even more obscene than he had expected. Mr. Lott had filled the massive hotel ballroom they had rented with hundreds of people more than Richard had certainly contacted. He wasn't even sure if many of them had any idea what was going on. The crystal chandeliers dangling from the high ceilings were perfectly matched to the ice sculptures that Mr. Lott had commissioned, elegant animals made of slowly dripping ice. Everything was lined with gilt and shone like mother-of-pearl; there was a small _orchestra_ seated in one corner. Richard really had no reason to be so upset about the ridiculous staging of the engagement party but it all seemed so… _unnecessary_.

Of course, Mrs. Lott's beloved seating arrangement had set him far apart from any of his friends so Richard sat next to his fiancée, fidgeting with his fork. Another thing was that the catering was ridiculous, offering miniscule portions of gourmet recipes that barely satisfied his hunger. Not to mention the heavily perfumed centerpieces made him want to sneeze…

If Richard had decided to be a little more introspective he probably would have realized that by this point he was searching for points of irritation about the whole affair. Even so, he'd woken in the morning to get into an uncomfortably stiff black suit and driven all the way up to New York from Yale; upon arrival at the ballroom, he'd been forced to endure a lengthy and very boring conversation with Mr. Lott. The day had not been well, and if his evening continued to feature more old women showing too much skin, he was pretty sure that wasn't going to turn out well either.

Finally, the woman bid Pennilyn goodbye and Richard's fiancée looked at him quizzically. "You're not happy," she stated under her breath in his ear, hands smoothing down the skirt of her white cocktail dress.

Richard hesitated, now playing with his napkin. "No," he answered honestly. "Let's walk around a little bit. I haven't seen Robert all evening and I know he was dying to come."

Lynnie nodded and, relieved, Richard sprung up from his seat and helped her to her feet. Finally able to enjoy the room's open spaces, he was grateful for the opportunity to stretch his legs a little. His spirits lifted more when they crossed paths with just the person he was looking to find.

"Robert!" Penny said over the smoothly orchestrated Vivaldi in the background. "How lovely it is to see you again!"

Robert smiled at her, dapper in a three-piece grey suit and carefully balancing three drinks in his hands. "Pennilyn, always a pleasure," he said, winking salaciously. She let out an uncomfortable laugh, which made his grin even larger. "And, well, Richard, I guess it's sort of decent to see you. I'd love to stay and talk but these drinks are cold as ice and I really don't think my hands can take it any more. Come back to my table with me, all the boys are with me and I bet they'd love to see the lovebirds."

Lynnie's hand, laced through Richard's arm, gave him a gentle squeeze. "We'd love to," she replied with a smile. Robert led them through the mass of people, occasionally stopping every once in a while for someone who wished to offer their congratulations, and eventually they stopped in the far corner at a huge and rather raucous table filled with, Richard was glad to see, his friends.

"The lucky couple!" John Dorsey bellowed from the very inside edge of the table, face red and undoubtedly already drunk, as he tended to be. Pennilyn flushed prettily, probably partly from his intoxicated manner and partly from the less than serious leer he sent her way. Richard stifled a laugh. Her embarrassment was sweet, if comical.

"Pennilyn, I don't think I've introduced you to my girlfriend," Robert interrupted proudly as he handed Hope one of the drinks. "I'd like you to meet Hope Archer…"

Larry Freeman reached over the table to shake Richard's hand, congratulating him, and Richard felt four or five various other hands patting him on the back and shoulders. It was overwhelming, and though Richard was glad his friends were so congratulatory, he also felt slightly out of place. He was so preoccupied with exchanging greetings with Kenneth Davies, whom he had last seen over two months ago, that he didn't notice the girl who took her place next to Hope until he turned to retrieve Pennilyn from Robert's lovey-dovey ramblings.

"Richard," Emily said calmly. "Congratulations on your engagement."

He was suddenly more than a little flustered as he gazed down at her, auburn locks in those same perfect waves, but this time dressed in a rich purple princess-cut dress accented with a black sash at the waist, diamonds gleaming at her throat. She looked positively royal. He didn't say a word, stunned at the mere sight of her until Pennilyn gently touched his elbow and he looked back at her smiling face.

"Er, Lynnie, this is Emily Archer," he said awkwardly. "Emily is Hope's younger sister."

Emily mirrored Pennilyn's genuine smile as she reached out to shake the other girl's hand. "It's very nice to meet you," Emily said. "You make a lovely couple." Richard's stomach flip-flopped.

"Thank you so much for coming," Lynnie replied cheerfully. "It's so nice to meet Richard's friends."

Tuning out of the conversation, Richard closed his eyes for a moment. He felt as if he might be sick, a recurring sensation in the past few weeks that immensely discomforted him. He was Richard Gilmore, and he did not get silly bouts of sickness like a pregnant woman.

But this situation was making him highly uncomfortable and a small part of him at the back of his head knew exactly why. He pushed the thought away, wishing fervently that it would lock itself in a dark chest and never come out. Meanwhile, Emily and Pennilyn were holding the most superficial of simple conversations, chatting idly about college and hair salons. That treacherous part of his brain marveled at how easily they could talk when he was so unsettled by their meeting.

"…Don't you think, Richard?" Pennilyn said, turning to look at him expectantly. He vaguely nodded, not paying attention to the conversation at hand. Pennilyn's expression changed to one of questioning confusion but she turned back to Emily and continued to chatter away.

Richard rubbed his eyes with one hand and told himself to concentrate. His eyes slipped on to Emily and before he knew it he was absorbing every quirk of her movement, thirsty for every delicate crook of a finger, every slight shake of her head and the ridiculously attractive way she tilted back her head of thick hair to laugh. She was so beautiful and yet so different from Pennilyn – where Pennilyn was willowy and pale, Emily's pale skin was offset by her thick dark hair and petite figure. There was something about the look in her eyes and the curve of her lips that made Richard's stomach tremble in an odd way, something foreign and provocative that made him want to claim her as his.

Suddenly she glanced up at him, and he felt his stomach drop to the floor. The look on her face was undecipherable.

Pennilyn then glanced at him as well and he tore his eyes away from Emily to attend to the blonde who was his fiancée. "I – I hate to interrupt but perhaps we should find my parents?" he stuttered. Pennilyn gave him a questioning stare but turned and smiled sweetly to the people at the table, saying a graceful goodbye, and Richard moved her mechanically back through the crowd to his parents, grateful for the mind-numbing experience to come of his mother fawning over Pennilyn's every movement.

Emily sat back down next to her sister, who directed a knowing glance at her. "Nice girl, isn't she?" Hope said quietly, eyes bright. Emily sniffed and pulled her chair in.

"You could have told me what this party was for before dragging me to it," she replied curtly. "Whoever planned this thing did a terrible job. Far too many people on not enough tables."

Hope laughed and took a sip of her champagne, knowing her sister too well to let her go with that statement. Emily glared. "I know exactly what you're up to," she said coldly.

Emily took a sip of her own champagne as her sister waited expectantly on her words, and finally she set her glass down. "She was a perfectly nice girl," Emily continued, fussing with her silverware. "Pretty. I can see why Richard would be attracted to her."

"Is that all?" Hope asked, raising her eyebrows. Emily glared at her again, perfectly aligning two of the spoons.

A few seconds later she turned back to her blonde sister, annoyance written all over her face. "So _dull_," she spat. "My goodness, how he stays awake around her is anyone's guess. Such a _terrible_ conversationalist…"


	3. blue dress

_Saturday, November 7_

"You're boring," Robert declared suddenly. He put down the book he was reading and Richard looked across the coffee table at him over the top of his own copy of _Ulysses_.

Robert stood, straightening his shirt, and threw on the jacket he had left haphazardly on the couch the night before. "We're going out."

Slowly bookmarking his page, Richard set his novel down. "I really don't feel up to it, Robert," he said cautiously. Somehow his friend always dragged him into parties he really didn't want to be at. The truth was, since his engagement party Richard had been fielding record numbers of congratulatory phone calls, each one of which made him feel progressively more sick to the stomach. Desperately, he avoided the part of him that was trying to bring the truth to his attention by sitting inside once class had ended, reading until the wee hours of the night until he collapsed for want of dreamless sleep. Dreams, he had realized after several unsettling nighttime visions, were more painful and puzzling than reality.

"There's a party at William Morgan's," Robert continued, picking up his shoes from where he had kicked them off in pursuit of comfort. He shoved them unceremoniously on his feet. "There's a party and you're going to get married and yet we're sitting here on a Saturday night reading books. What happened to the Richard who threw Colin out the window with me and ran around naked for a month? I'm calling Hope and we are going to drive down to William's new house and have some fun."

"This is fun, and that was sophomore year," Richard protested weakly. Robert looked at him disbelievingly, and he relented. "Fine. But it's still early, it's not even six yet. Can't I finish my chapter?"

"His place is in Stamford," Robert said. At the look on Richard's face, an expression dangerously nearing a pout, he rolled his eyes. "It's the weekend, Richard! Bring your book for the car ride, then. I swear, I don't know what's happened to you lately."

...

Several hours later, under the warm haze of several beers and a particularly good glass of something he didn't bother to identify, Richard had to admit that Robert had been right and this party was a lot more enjoyable than he thought it would have been. Robert on the other hand was moping – there was no sign of Hope as of yet and his drinks hadn't made him feel any better about her absence.

William Morgan's new house was roomy, modern, and full of fancy white furniture. Richard had no idea who the host was, having never met him before or yet, but the huge and overwhelming bustle of people put him in a good mood nevertheless, and he was sitting near the door with a cluster of like-minded college boys as equally buzzed as he was. They were currently appraising every girl who was let into the room, letting out especially excited noises when a particularly attractive example sashayed past.

Richard had lost track of the number of curvy, leggy college girls that had come by until a particularly familiar one walked through the door in a flippy yellow dress. Robert sprung up, his face instantly lighting up. "This one's mine, boys!" he cheered, and they egged him on as he picked her up and swung her around. She giggled and he planted a dramatic kiss on her lips as the men watching jeered.

Richard lost interest before all the others in the unfolding passion and stood to get himself another drink just as the next girl came in the wake of her sister and he was frozen, dumbfounded, to the floor. Emily didn't notice him as she fumbled with the clasp on her bag and rolled her eyes at her ever-infuriating sister. She had elected to draw up her hair in a pile of relaxed curls, a few locks falling out and brushing gently against her flushed cheeks. And the dress – in that moment, Richard froze to the floor, easy natural charm gone. The rich blue chiffon with a slight sheen gathered at her neckline in a deep V, then flared beneath an embellished waistband into a full skirt that swirled like water against her knees. She looked, in a word, like a dream, one that Richard desperately wanted to be a part of. He took a moment to remember how to breathe.

And then he realized she was looking up at him through heavy dark lashes. He cleared his throat. "Emily," he greeted her softly.

"Hello," she answered, raising one hand near her cheek as if to brush back a strand of hair. Her fingers fluttered for a second before she drew her hand back down to clutch, knuckles white, the handle on her purse. The sides of her lips quirked upwards slightly.

And then suddenly she was engulfed in a gaggle of girls, spirited away to some corner of the apartment and leaving Richard staring blankly at the place she had just stood.

Richard shook his head vigorously and headed back to the drinks, downing two glasses of something dark and spicy right at the table and picking up another bottle of beer to work on.

...

Bumping into Robert and Hope again some time later, Richard was rather surprised to say that at this point he was blissfully past the point of tipsy and well into the realm of piss-drunk. Since several catastrophes last year at keggers he hadn't let himself get so wild – especially with his growing relationship with Pennilyn, who didn't quite approve – but he had to say, this feeling of airlessness was one he missed a little bit. A still semi-sober Robert knew the signs of a drunken Richard automatically, and he extracted himself from the embrace of his girlfriend to attend to his friend.

Richard's difficulty standing upright, for example, was a sign that was a little bit hard to miss. "Whoa, Dick!" Robert said, eyes wide and hand reaching out to support his slightly swaying body. "A little too much to drink?"

Richard attempted to concentrate on the flat plane of the floor. It seemed to be rising towards him at an alarming rate. The pleasant warm haze that had clouded his vision had since become a full-sized fog, and he squinted slightly at his best friend. "Mmmm. Robert?" he said, slurring slightly on the last syllable. "I think I might be a little bit drunk."

"Oh ho, my friend, I think you're way past that. Why don't we get you outside for some air…"

"Rob… Robby. I'm so, so in love…"

"Save that for Pennilyn," Robert replied, propping Richard's arm over his shoulders. "Don't think she'd appreciate you expressing your love for me like this, you know."

Richard held up a shaky finger. "Don't you dare talk to Lynnie. Don't want to talk about Lynnie. She'd be mad at me."

Robert raised his eyebrows. "Will she? Well, alright there, buddy. Think you can stand yet?"

"Definitely not."

"For God's sake, it's like some weird parallel universe," Robert said as he escorted Richard out the door into silence. "Usually you're the one holding _me_ up. Here we go, fresh air."

Sure enough, the chilly November air outside sobered Richard up a bit, but the warmth in his belly clutched on to the heavy fuzz around his field of vision. He shivered.

"I should be taking a photo for blackmail or writing something on your forehead, not helping you out here," Robert was muttering as he held Richard's arm around his own shoulders. "I think you might be the most eloquent drunk I've ever met - I don't think I've ever seen you _this_ drunk. Not even after Norma Conningway's thing last year when you ran around without your pants on. God you're heavy!"

"Tall," Richard mumbled back. The tiled pathway leering up at him was even less attractive than the carpet of inside, and he stumbled slightly on the spot.

Robert steadied him and snorted. "Yeah, you are. That's another thing. God, I'm going to have a cramp in my shoulders when I get up tomorrow."

"Cold," Richard said vaguely. His head was pounding now at the same rate as his heart, and his skin was becoming numb with cold. He shivered again, and wondered to himself rather lucidly why he'd taken off his jacket inside.

"I'd get your jacket if you weren't dependent on me," Robert muttered. "What a way for this evening to turn out. Bet you're having fun. And I take back what I said about eloquence. Monosyllabism does not suit you, my friend."

At that moment, the door opened and a blurry blue figure stepped out. "Robert? Richard?" its familiar voice asked, sounding surprised. Robert looked up at her and immediately released Richard's arm. He lost balance and leaned heavily on the wall, suddenly feeling quite sick.

"Oh good," Richard heard Robert saying. It sounded distant and distorted, as if he were a mile away speaking through a heavy pane of glass. "I have to go inside and talk to your sister and find Richard's jacket. Can you stay out here for a second or two?"

Richard wasn't sure what happened next because the knot of sick dread in his stomach suddenly surged up his esophagus and he spectacularly threw up. Thankfully, the shrubbery lining the front passageway happily acted as a receptacle for the last four hours' worth of drinks.

He felt a soft hand on his back, patting him gently as he finished emptying his stomach, then another hand forcing a handkerchief into his fingers. He wiped his mouth then collapsed against the brick of the wall, coughing slightly.

"I do _not_ want that handkerchief back, thank you," a dry voice commented.

"Don't usually do that," Richard mumbled. The world was still fuzzy but at least his words came out in more than monosyllabic spurts now.

"Throw up or drink like a sailor?" Emily returned primly. She began to sink down next to him but he held a hand out. "Why, can't I sit?"

"Don't get the dress dirty," Richard said, and pushed himself up. She helped him regain his balance but before she could pull away once he was standing upright, he grasped her waist with one hand. "Such a beautiful dress," he managed to say, head still swimming. "You. You're the most… amazing… girl I've ever met."

"Thank you," she said, looking slightly uncomfortable, "but I'm not sure Pennilyn would like you to say that. You can let go of me now."

Richard let out a huff as the past month's frustrations suddenly surfaced: the party, Robert's expectations about his love for Pennilyn, Mr. Lott and his hurried marriage plans. He stepped closer to her.

"I think I'm in love with you," he said solemnly. He took another step and she took one back, pressing herself against the wall. Her dark eyes avoided his gaze, looking to the side under her dark eyelashes, and she pursed her lips.

"You're drunk," she finally said coolly in a slight trembling voice, "and you're engaged. Please let go of me."

He let go of her compliantly, shooting her a small sad smile, and took a step backwards as the door opened again and Robert came out, bringing with him the suddenly loud burst of music and voices before the door shut. Richard looked at his roommate and said clearly, "I'm in love with Emily."

And then, naturally, he passed out.

_Sunday, November 8_

"Oh good, you're awake from your horrific dime store romance novel," Robert said as soon as Richard blearily opened his eyes. He closed them again in pain.

It was a sunny day, as it always had to be after the worst drinking nights in Richard's life, and every glance of sunshine he caught felt like a laser drilling into his skull. He groaned and buried his face back into the sticky leather of the settee. It didn't help that his head was throbbing as if every second that passed was a beat on the loudest and most painful drum in existence.

Richard lay sprawled over the chesterfield in their dormitory, legs too long to fit and thus feet dangling over the end, shoes still on. He briefly wondered how hard it must have been to bring him home, then decided that thinking was too painful.

"I have to say, buddy, you have to learn how to hold your liquor," Robert continued, oblivious to the ringing pain his voice gave his roommate. "You drink two or three glasses and you're fine and then bam! you're done. You'd think after sophomore year you'd have learned. You should've heard yourself." He took a seat opposite to Richard in the single leather armchair across the coffee table, raising his eyebrows. "'I'm soooo in love, Robby' – you called me _Robby_. Disgusting."

"Better than Dick," Richard mumbled, muffled by the sofa. "How much did I _drink_?"

"Oh, way more than enough. So you profess your love to me and then you profess your love for Emily, the poor girl. I didn't know you could spook that one, but you managed to."

Richard groaned as the memory resurfaced. He shoved his face further into the depths of the cushion, hoping that the dull throb of reality might give way to the dark quiet that was currently his line of vision.

He should have been hung over enough to laugh it off as the product of far too much vodka, but in his heart Richard knew that he couldn't keep it up any more. He'd tried, and succeeded for some time, to convince himself that this was what he wanted – it _had_ been what he wanted, hadn't it? – but he knew that his relationship with Penny would only make things worse.

Never usually a romanticist at heart, Richard still knew that stringing her along in a marriage defined by their matching social status and calm camaraderie would hardly forge a good future. He just wasn't ready to get married, and unfortunately, he especially wasn't ready to get married to the girl that was his fiancée. Pennilyn was beautiful and sweet and would be devoted to his whims, but over the past few weeks he'd begun doubting whether that was what he wanted at this point in his life. He wanted _more_ – some elusive sense of comfort and not just the contentment that he'd felt at the dinner and the over-blown engagement party thrown by her parents.

He felt uncomfortable with this revelation. Richard had never wanted more with Lynnie. Meeting her had been as a calm affair as dating her, loving her, and proposing to her. It was what he had expected, it was what she had expected, and most of all it was exactly what his parents had expected: a beautiful all-American girl with whom he could raise a beautiful, healthy family and carry on the family name. It was really too bad that his current revelation had him doubting the very nature of their relationship. How could he keep loving a woman as wholly devoted to this dream as he thought he had been? Something was missing, and he wasn't sure what but he knew the reason why. He was terrified, and he was terrified of continuing his now doomed relationship with Pennilyn.

Not to mention every time he tried to come up with reasons why he loved Lynnie he came up with nothing but a question mark and the image of Emily's blazing dark eyes.

As Robert continued waxing lyrical about Richard's unfortunate degree of inebriation, Richard sat up, very uncomfortably. His head continued to thump painfully. "Robert."

Robert stopped and frowned at Richard's grimace. "D'you want something to eat? You look a little sickly. I have the perfect remedy for -"

"I have to break up with Lynnie."

Richard's friend stared at him for a moment then let out a peal of laughter.

"Oh come on now," Robert said cajolingly. "Save the bleeding heart, Dick! You know how many times I've told girls at parties how much I love them? Way beyond count, my friend. Knowing Pennilyn she'll laugh it off."

"No, Robert," Richard stated, raising a hand to his throbbing temple. "I can't marry her. She's not right for me. I'm serious," he added quickly, looking at his friend.

They looked at each other for a few seconds until Robert leaned back into the chair, thoughtful. "You know, for some reason I'm really not all that surprised."

Richard, on the other hand, was surprised at this. He frowned. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I mean… Pennilyn's nice," Robert continued, slightly awkwardly. "You know I liked you two together, but I don't think she was right for you either."

Leaning back on the soft buttery leather of the sofa, Richard heaved a sigh. "That's a relief," he muttered, somewhat to himself. He'd thought Pennilyn was right, his entire family had thought Penny was right, and he was glad someone thought maybe she wasn't and that he wasn't making the mistake of a lifetime. He rubbed at his eyes again. It was still all a little bit too much to deal with. "My God my head hurts."

"Vodka and beer, Dicky boy," Robert said cheerfully, clearly glad to change the subject. Robert had never been one for the emotional talk, except apparently when he was on drugs. "Far too much vodka and beer." He got to his feet, brushing imaginary specks of dust off the front of his striped shirt. "Another Bloody Mary?"

Richard nodded, still massaging his temples. The throbbing had desisted, sort of, as had the painful quality of the light. What hadn't was the dull way his heart seemed to have dropped into his stomach. As Robert began clinking together bottles of alcohol somewhere in the corner, Richard reached for the phone and began to dial Pennilyn's phone number.

Robert turned back around to hand Richard his drink and his eyes widened. "No no no, Richard, you definitely do _not_ break up by phone!" he half-whispered, setting the drink down on the coffee table and making a grab for the phone. Richard leaned away from him, shaking his head, and Pennilyn's voice came over the line. "Hello?"

"Lynnie, it's Richard calling," Richard said, as Robert made another swipe for the phone. "I was wondering if you could make it to dinner tonight. Or tomorrow night."

Robert stopped, enlightenment dawning over his face, and he sat back down opposite his friend.

"Whatever for?" she asked on the other end, sounding concerned. "There's nothing wrong, is there?"

Pausing, Richard thought of a way to answer that question, and decided to ignore it completely. "It's urgent. Can I pick you up at around seven?"

"Well, yes, I suppose I can come out tonight -"

"Good. Well, I'll see you then, Pennilyn. Goodbye."

"Richard, what is this all ab-"

He hung up, raising an eyebrow at Robert, and stood to go into his bedroom. "Feel like driving to New York with me?" Richard asked, not expecting an answer as he extracted a coat and umbrella from his closet. Robert only shook his head, and so Richard embarked, alone and in the pouring rain, for Vassar College.

...

"I don't understand," Pennilyn said, perfectly manicured hands gripping the edge of the table as if she were afraid she might fall off her chair. They sat in the low chatter of _Adele's_, a pricey Italian restaurant that had often been their date mainstay.

Richard regretted the decision to bring her here; dark chance had decreed they be seated at Pennilyn's favourite table, off to the quiet side of the restaurant against a window overlooking the busy street outside. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone up there wanted to make him feel worse doing this than he already did. He looked down and saw that his own hands were tightly gripping his napkin much the same way hers were gripping the table.

He looked back up at her pale face, blonde curls tumbling prettily over her shoulders and wide blue eyes creased at the corners.

"I - I don't know what to say," she continued. "What – _why_, Richard?"

He fidgeted a little in his lap, sighing deeply. The waiter came around to refill their glasses of wine and Richard practically inhaled his, closing his eyes as it pooled hotly in the base of his stomach. "Pennilyn…"

"Just tell me why, Richard."

Richard swallowed thickly. "We're not right for each other, Lynnie," he said honestly, voice cracking a little on her name. "I know it, and I have the feeling maybe you know it too. I can't be with you for the rest of my life."

A long moment passed as she stared at her hands, which folded back up in her lap. For a moment, he thought she might start crying.

"We don't have to get married yet," she whispered, voice trembling. "We can put off the engagement – wait a few more years –"

"I can't," he stated again. "I can't, Pennilyn." He expected to see a tear work its way down her cheek but instead, she stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. Silently, she raised her glass and drank its contents, setting it back down on the tablecloth. Then she twisted the engagement ring off her finger and laid it gently on the table between them. The sapphire surrounded in tiny pinpoints of diamonds glinted in the dim light of the restaurant, and wordlessly Richard looked at it.

"You met someone," she said.

Her words held no judgment, no accusation, just quiet acknowledgement, and he took a shaky breath before replying. "Yes."

Pennilyn looked at him a moment more.

"You're in love with her."

_So you profess your love to me and then you profess your love for Emily, the poor girl. I didn't know you could spook that one, but you managed to._

Richard said nothing.

Twenty minutes later, he sat alone, fingertips resting on the stem of his wineglass as he recomposed himself. He took a long, indulgent drink, blinking as the wine slide warmly down his throat.

So. That was it.

Looking down at his finger, he swallowed and finally slid off his own engagement ring, letting it sit next to the sparkling cluster of a woman's ring on the table. Pennilyn had just left. He had expected her to cry, but she didn't; instead, she conducted the rest of their dinner date as if in a business meeting. They had agreed that they would deal with their own parents, and parted on good terms. She told him to call her, that she wanted to talk as just friends, that she wanted to see him again soon. Richard had tried out those foreign words in his head: _just friends_. As she stood to leave and he reached out to shake her hand, she smiled at him kindly and pulled him in for a brief hug. He had watched her walk away, straight-backed and ever graceful. He wondered, his heart compressing into a stone, whether he was making a mistake.

Richard waved to the waiter. "Another glass of the pinot noir?"


	4. navy dress

_Friday, November 13_

"Get _up_, you lump of lard," Robert muttered in annoyance as he ripped the fluffy quilt cover off from over Richard's head. In two steps he swept over to the window, pushing the curtains open in one great flourish of his arms. Light flooded the room, illuminating Richard's plush bed, the oak desk standing steadily in one corner, and the stacks of books lining the walls in complementary shelves or, when room had run out, haphazard piles of textbooks and papers lying on the carpet. Richard groaned, and Robert turned to face him with his hands crossed. "I feel like your mother, and I don't like it."

"My mother's a lot better looking than you," Richard said, voice muffled in the comfort of his down pillow. Robert rolled his eyes, yanking said pillow away from his friend. "Up. You're going to miss class."

Just as he was about to pull off the quilt the phone rang shrilly outside and Robert glared at Richard, leaving to pick it up with Richard's pillow tucked under one arm. Richard reached down and pulled his blankets back over his head.

"Hello? … no, this is Robert … oh, Mrs. Gilmore! How nice to hear from you. … oh yes, I'm enjoying my classes very much…"

Richard leaped up at his mother's name, hurling away his blankets and leaving his room to snatch the phone from Robert, who grinned at him and mouthed _mama's boy_. Richard rolled his eyes.

"Good morning mother," he started, but was cut off by Trix's sharp clear voice on the other end.

"I had a very unpleasant phone conversation with Evelyn yesterday night, Richard."

Sighing, Richard sat down on the settee and kneaded his left temple with his fingers. "Mother –"

"Why on earth did I not hear a peep about this whole affair from my only son? Are you too old to tell your mother important things going on in your life?"

"No, mother. I was going to tell you tonight at dinner –"

"Pennilyn Lott! You broke your engagement with Pennilyn Lott, Richard! You love that girl. Whatever happened?" Trix's voice softened over the line, and Richard sighed again.

"I can't get into it now, mother. Can I talk to you later? I have class to get to, and I really can't be late."

There was a pause, and his mother finally acquiesced. "Very well, I know school is important to you. Be a good boy, darling. How are they feeding you in that place? I feel as though I should be sending you packages of food from home. I could get Carlos to whip you up some non-perishables…"

Richard chuckled. "I'm at Yale, mother, not the state penitentiary. But thank you. I'll see you tonight."

"Alright, Richard. I love you, darling."

"I love you too, mother."

As he hung up, he looked straight at Robert who was staring with his mouth hung open. "Did you just tell your mother you _loved_ her?" he asked incredulously. "What are you, six?"

Rolling his eyes, Richard haughtily walked back into his bedroom – or at least as haughtily as he could, wearing striped pajamas. Robert followed him, not even bothering to avert his eyes as Richard lifted the pajama shirt over his head. Robert leaned against Richard's desk, rummaging in his pockets as Richard ruffled in his wardrobe for a shirt.

"Don't smoke in here," Richard said, muffled by the blue shirt he now struggled to pull over his head, ignoring the buttons. "You know that these books soak up the smell. Go smoke in the living room."

Instead, Robert pouted childishly and returned the cigarette he had extracted from his pockets. Twirling the desk chair, Robert sat down. "So."

Raising an eyebrow, Richard dropped his pajama trousers and grabbed the slacks he had left half-folded on his bedside table. "Spit it out. Why aren't you getting to class? You should be in microbiology right now."

Robert tapped his fingers restlessly on the oak of the desk, staring vaguely out the window, then spun on the leather chair back to face his roommate. "I'm just wondering… how you are."

He buckled his belt before frowning. "Did the Bodysnatchers replace you with a girl?" Richard asked as he reached down to pull on a pair of shoes. "You stayed to talk about my _feelings_?"

"Ah ha!" Robert said triumphantly. "Friend of mine, your indignant tone definitely suggests that you're just overflowing with emotion. And you don't want to keep it bottled up now, do you?"

"What's in it for you?" Richard shot back as he tied the laces of his very expensive Italian shoes. They were the first pair he'd found on the floor.

"I just want to knoooow, Dick," Robert whined, looking very much like a five-year old draped on Richard's desk chair. "You've done nothing but skulk around our dorm for the past week, but you haven't even been drinking and it's not like you're crying your eyes out. Are you upset or not?"

"I'm _fine_, Robert," the Gilmore snapped with irritation. He shrugged on a jacket, grabbing his bookbag and standing to glare at his friend. "Go to class. I'm _fine_."

As he left, Robert leaned back thoughtfully. The front door slammed shut a room away. "Definitely _not_ fine," Robert muttered to himself. He paused. "And that's not even what the Invasion of the Bodysnatchers is _about_."

…

The clock on the mantelpiece was ticking quietly against a background soundtrack of tasteful classical music. In the quiet stillness of his family home's dining room, everything seemed amplified; Richard could hear the chef's footsteps in the kitchen and the scrape of his father's utensils against his plate. He could see the heat wavering from the radiator against the wall, and although she didn't know it, he could also see his mother's surreptitious glances across at him.

Gently sliding the edge of his dessert spoon into the chocolate mousse, Richard waited, slightly annoyed, for what would eventually come. It happened as soon as the elder Mr. Gilmore excused himself for a business call, scraping his chair at the head of the table backwards and leaving his son and wife sitting across from one another.

"Richard," Trix implored, reaching a hand across the table. Her chocolate mousse had been left untouched. "Tell your mother what happened to you and dear Lynnie, darling."

He didn't say anything, only lifted his spoon to his lips to savour the light texture and sweetness of the mousse. Carlos was a fantastic chef, a portly old man who loved his sweets and steaks above all else, and his chocolate mousse was absolutely delicious. Richard wondered whether he might bring any back to Yale.

Richard's mother, watching him closely, suddenly gasped. "No!" Trix cried, hand fluttering to rest on her heart. "That – _harlot_! She didn't –"

"Mother!" Richard said, dropping his spoon. "Pennilyn did nothing of the sort. Don't even entertain that thought, she's a perfectly trustworthy woman."

"Oh," Trix said, looking almost annoyed that her theory had not held. "Well, then, I don't see a problem, do I?"

"Look, Mother, we just had our differences and they didn't work out," Richard said, attempting to adopt that tone of finality that his father commandeered so confidently. He was fairly sure it didn't work on his mother. "That's all."

"Well that's hardly enough to go from," Trix persisted, leaning forward to stare him in the eye. Richard fidgeted uncomfortably in his lap. "Every marriage has differences, Richard, and it's solving the problems that really counts."

Richard sighed quietly, taking another spoon of mousse.

"What will you think in a week, Richard?" Trix asked, leaning back again and waving her hand in her face. "There will always be disputes and anger but you work through them. Do you think I didn't notice the way that Stephen Dennings was making eyes at your Lynnie during your engagement party? Another man's fiancée, indeed! I had half a mind to call his mother. What if darling Pennilyn is snatched up while you keep up this sham of a separation?"

Richard gaped at his mother, who smiled encouragingly. "Exactly, dearest. There are so many boys your age around here. None of them in any way as wonderful as you are, but just imagine! Pennilyn Lott with – with – Stephen _Dennings_, God forbid, or that _horrible_ Smithson boy –"

Suddenly, Richard stood, the legs of his chair making an unpleasant sound against the floor as he quickly nodded to his mother. "Thanks for the meal, Mother," he said hurriedly, already halfway out of the dining room. "I'll see you next week."

"Richard!"

Richard almost ran to the door, snatching his coat from a very bemused maid, and leapt into his car hoping that he had enough gas to get back to Yale (because God knew he definitely didn't have enough cash on him to fill up his tank tonight). The meter shuddered precariously close to the Empty symbol for his liking, but Richard still reversed violently down the driveway and into the night.

…

Emily unclasped the pearl necklace she had chosen for the night, setting it down in the tray of her jewelry box with tender care. That night had been a Smith College DAR meeting, which had turned out to be an absolute disaster. A recent deluge of younger recruits, freshmen eager to join new clubs and see new things, had inflated the group's numbers and created a whole legion of giggly, inattentive girls who without fail caused _something_ to go wrong during each meeting. At tonight's meeting one of the girls' boyfriends showed up in the form of a doleful serenade outside the window. Apparently they'd had a fight and he had rather stupidly decided to make it up to her with three dozen roses and a loving rendition of _Can't Help Falling in Love_. It would have been rather sweet if not for the fact that he was a rather terrible singer, and rain was coming down in bucketfuls outside.

Needless to say, by the time they had coaxed him inside, sodden flowers and all, the meeting had been over and only half of the agenda had been covered. _Then_ she had gotten stuck comforting some other poor girl who'd caught her twin sister canoodling with her boyfriend. That had been a lengthy, painful session, and now it was well past midnight. She was exhausted.

Emily sighed, rubbing her eyes and reaching to unbutton the top button of her classy navy suit jacket. Just as Emily slid the sleeves off her arms, hanging the jacket carefully on a hanger, she heard loud knocking on the door.

Striding towards the front door of the dormitory in the jacket's complementary navy shift dress, Emily wrenched open the handle. "For goodness' sake, Sweetie, why must you always forget to bring your keys when I _told _you that – oh!"

Instead of her notoriously absent roommate's slender petite shape and wide blue eyes, Emily looked up into Richard Gilmore's rather intimidating stature and, for some reason, rather annoyed expression. She took a moment to recover from the initial shock of seeing Richard at the door of her dormitory, and stared a few second longer before slipping deftly into her usual dryness. "Well, I see you've recovered from Saturday night." Saturday night, when he'd told her he was in love with her. That had been an odd night.

"Will you let me in or not?" Richard replied brusquely, not bothering to hear her answer before brushing past her and taking a seat in the living room.

"_Excuse_ me?" Emily asked, stunned, and turned to face him.

Richard was gazing, the same stony expression on his face, around Emily's dormitory, absorbing the cool cream accents to the warm golden-browns and robin-egg blues that Emily had specifically chosen to decorate with that year. She had rather liked the colour scheme, but the attention he was paying to it was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable, and she frowned.

At the movement, Richard turned back to her and stared at her before standing and beginning to pace in front of her. Utterly confused, Emily cleared her throat, but Richard stopped just a step in front of her and looked at her again. Forget just uncomfortable, Emily was now just about ready to ask him to leave.

"Richard –"

"I broke my engagement to Pennilyn."

Emily blinked in confusion even as a flood of cheer swelled her heart. Angrily, she squashed it. It meant nothing. Richard's broken engagement meant nothing, and she still had no idea why he was here telling her this. (Except, sort of, somewhere inside her, she _did_ and was feeling a little smug about it. But this definitely wasn't something she would think about until much later.)

He had started pacing again.

"I'm sorry," Emily offered weakly.

"I don't even feel bad about it," Richard interrupted her. He stopped walking for a second, then resumed. He held up a finger. "I loved her, and I still love her, but I don't feel bad _at all_."

Emily bit back a scathing remark. From what she had seen for herself at the engagement party, Pennilyn Lott had been nothing much more than a typical vapid blonde society girl with a sunny disposition and a demure façade hiding dull unintelligence. Emily conceded that she had never really met the girl before, but she had sounded like a complete idiot. It was no wonder Richard didn't feel bad.

A part of her disagreed, and told her that there was a very clear reason why he didn't feel bad at all.

Another part of her said quietly and irrelevantly, _this forceful Richard with lots to say is very different from the shy Richard who throws up next to your shoes. He's awfully attractive._

She scolded herself for this errant thought, and merely stood in silence as he suddenly sat back down on the settee.

"Even Robert noticed. Robert, who can't tell right from left on some days. That first night I was expectedly upset. Then, I got up in the morning and I felt _fine_. Better than fine, even, I felt _excited_. You'd think I would at least be a little bit sad."

Emily swallowed. "I don't know what you're talking about, Richard." Her insides thrummed against her skin.

"And then my mother went on and on but all I could think about was being too late to have _you_."

In one fluid movement, Richard stood, unfolding his long legs and giving her that same intense stare as he'd given her that moment at William's party, the concentrated stare that made her knees turn to jelly and her fingers curl into her palms. Unwittingly, she dampened her lips.

And then, his arms were around her, warm fingers grasping the sides of her arms, pulling her flush against his broad chest as he crushed his lips to hers and kissed her fervently, drew a hand up to tangle his fingertips in the depths of her auburn waves and traced patterns against her scalp in his quest to pull her closer, making Emily light-headed. Her fingers automatically clutched at the lapels of his jacket, then slid upwards to wrap her arms around his neck as she responded eagerly, mouth soft against his but reacting with the same urgency. She was dizzy with his intensity, weak at the knees, fingers uncurling loosely as he kissed her. _So this is it? _Emily thought, dazed.

When he finally pulled slightly back from her, allowing her to draw a much-needed shaky breath, Emily suddenly recalled their situation and pushed him away, stumbling backwards as she glared at him, heart beating furiously. He offered her a confused look.

"_Excuse_ me!" she declared, voice cracking. "I refuse to be –" Emily gestured wildly, before taking another step back and giving herself a deep breath of air. She forced herself to calm down. "I will _not_ be the woman you run to after your relationship implodes, some kind of _rebound_ -"

He stared at her with a strange expression of desire then he was back on her, hands pushing her gently against the door as he kissed her again, setting every nerve ending on fire as his fingers trailed up her arm and neck to cup her cheek and brush his thumb back and forth across the skin taut across her jawbone. She gave a soft sigh as he leaned back after a long embrace. Richard looked down at her with fond amusement, still gently stroking across her cheek with a thumb and his smile a direct contrast to his earlier frustration.

"Emily," he murmured, "I drove from Hartford to Yale, tracked down Robert on a Friday night, got your sister's number to get your address, and then drove all the way here to find you. If you really think I just want you as a rebound I think you've got the wrong man."

"I still don't know what you're talking about," Emily replied, crossly. Contradictory to her tone, her fingers were gently ruffling through the soft brown hairs at the back of his head. Inside, she was smiling. Never had she felt more comfortable.

Richard exhaled softly, hand dropping to wrap back around her waist. "I broke up with Pennilyn on Sunday."

Emily raised her eyebrows. "Sunday?" she repeatedly, incredulously. It had only been a few days, then. Maybe she was right about being a rebound. She attempted to gently push him back a step, but he only tightened his grip around her.

"Monday morning, I thought to myself, _I must be devastated_, but I wasn't. All these years and it took a break-up to realize that maybe Lynnie and I are better just as friends."

"Friends?" Emily echoed blankly. He smirked at her bemusement, pushing a rebellious strand of hair away from her face, and she wondered at how it could possibly feel so natural to stand here, in Richard's arms, with his fingers brushing gently against her cheeks as he neatened her hair.

"Monosyllabism doesn't suit you either," he said in a low voice, amusement tingeing his expression. She rolled her eyes, suddenly annoyed; it seemed like he was trying to make a joke but Emily was tired of his beating around the bush with things she didn't quite understand.

"Get to the point, Richard," she said sharply, and his smile only grew. He tucked his hand back around her waist, looking down at her.

"Has anyone ever told you how attractive you are when you're angry? I spent all week thinking about you, Emily."

Her stomach dropped to a height somewhere around her knees and she couldn't help the silly smile that made its way on to her face. It was as if she was fourteen again – she felt as if she should have been able to suppress the childish happiness this tiny little statement gave her, but she couldn't stop grinning like an idiot.

"Robert thought I missed Pennilyn and kept bugging me about it, but to be honest I was thinking about how I could possibly apologize to you for Saturday night. And my mother kept going on about how there are all the other men in this world I realized that I really don't want to see you with any of them. I thought maybe, you know, we could do something. Some night. If you wanted." At this, he slipped back into uncertainty, hopeful eyes scrutinizing her face for a response.

Emily only laughed, rolling her eyes. "Are you that eloquent with all the girls?" she asked dryly, palms resting back against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat under her right hand, and it provided her some warm sense of security that thrilled her.

"Only if I want to go out to dinner with them," he countered.

She tilted her face to the side, pursing her lips. "I suppose I could make room in my schedule," she said. He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I'm taking that as a yes. And since it's getting rather late, I suppose I should head home."

It was indeed rather late, and Emily debated offering up her settee for him to sleep on, but Richard saw the look on her face and shook his head. "I'll be fine. If anything I'll find a hotel or something nearby, but I shouldn't impose on you and your roommate."

"But–"

"I'll call you in the morning, how about that?" Richard asked, smiling down at her. "I'll be fine. Believe me."

Emily pursed her lips again, brow furrowing as she tidied the collar of his shirt. "Fine. But call me first thing."

Stepping rather reluctantly away from her, Richard beamed. "Emily, I wouldn't have it any other way," he said tenderly, and gently tucked that ever-errant strand of hair back behind an ear.

She smiled up at him, and he softly kissed the base of her palm in a show of old-fashioned affection that made Emily's cheeks flush red and insides quiver. "Oh, stop stalling," Emily said in a pathetic attempt to sound annoyed. She pulled her hands from his, stepping away from the door and opening it for him. Offering her a genuine smile, Richard crossed back over the threshold and looked at her one last time.

"I'll call you," he said with a boyish grin, "I promise."

And then he was gone and Emily had closed the door. She leaned against it for a few moments, heart pumping furiously and cheeks stained pink. How was this even possible? Melinda always joked about her being the ice queen due to her utter disdain for the usual fraternity boys who tried to chat her up and wrangle a date, and yet all it took from Richard was a smile to make her heart throb as if trying to escape her ribcage.

Emily was used to being in control, and the wild things Richard did to her emotions both amazed and shocked her. They hadn't even known one another for a month and already, she felt as if she could live only on this intense warmth that spread across her chest and the electricity that crackled between them with every touch. She took a deep breath, composing herself, and reminded herself that she was an Archer and Archers followed things through completely.

Richard was just about to take the first step down the stairs when Emily suddenly appeared from behind the door to her dorm and called his name. "Richard! Come back."

He turned, slightly confused, and she was striding purposefully towards him in her high heels and closely-cut dress and he wasn't sure that he had ever seen such an amazing sight. His heart leapt up, and he rather shamefully forced himself to visualize Robert naked on their coffee table to prevent other parts of his anatomy from doing the same thing.

This all went down the drain as she forcefully pulled him down towards her, kissing him hard with her fingers roaming the nape of his neck and the line of his jaw, a kiss that surprised him and elicited from him an unwitting little groan. He started to reach around to her hips but she broke away, taking a small step backwards as she pressed a small piece of paper into the palm of his hand.

"That's my phone number. How you intended to call me without it, I don't know. Goodnight."

And then she was gone with the gentle click of the door snapping shut and Richard stared down at the piece of paper in his hand. Underneath the row of numbers marching across the paper Emily had written _I don't like broken promises. Call me._

As he folded it and slipped it into his pocket, ready to head on home, he couldn't help but grin wildly. Richard had a feeling that he would be fulfilling promises to Emily for a very long time.

.

_fin_

_._

* * *

**A/N. **Firstly - yes, you aren't mistaken, this chapter is much less omniscient to Richard's POV than the previous ones. Yes, that is the point.

Secondly - whoa, it's done! As a very new writer to the GG fandom, having published only one other very short drabble, I want to say thank you to all my very kind reviewers and their words of support through the course of this fic! If you haven't reviewed yet, I encourage you to do so :) I love hearing what you all think about the characters and the prose so go on and click that button!

After finishing this I think I fell even more in love with Emily and Richard. You can probably expect more about them from me in the future; I particularly enjoy writing Emily which I didn't get to do nearly enough in this fic, so more Emily fic is probably forthcoming! I hope you all enjoyed the ride... I know I did. :)


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